Tell Me About It - Gilroy

It's another quasi holiday at Maddie's. Lots of activity, whole families visiting, kids dashing along the hallways in those shoes that light up, grown ups giggling like children at the cute cats.

The first guy to grab my attention is Boomer, who's newly arrived from Animal Care and Control. He's a vivacious long hair tabby with an unusually loud demanding meow. I imagine a sad story goes with him - although he's friendly, he's clearly upset and searching the hallway for someone who's not here. He lets me pet him but stays alert, yowling whenever someone enters the hall.

One cat meowing can have a domino effect, with anyone else prone to vocalizing pitching in, so between the cats and people it gets fairly noisy.

I help a mom and her daughter, who's a bit scared of cats. Can't tell her age, nine or ten maybe. Anyway, she's decided only one cat out of the whole shelter will do, a delicate little gray girl named Natasha. We all sit together and discuss cat body language and the meanings of tail movements.

Most other visitors decline help or make it clear they're not planning to adopt. So I go to visit another loud guy, Gilroy, who demands attention from everyone he sees. He's a ten year old mangy looking long hair, kind of smoky black, with battered looking ears and tail. Full of personality, though, very sweet and can't get enough of any lap.

He's got a whole long story written up about him on his door as well as several undignified photos; you can tell this guy has been around the block several times but he's ready to come inside. His photo in the Santa suit, for instance - most cats would not tolerate such a thing, but for Gilroy, as long as you're paying attention to him, he doesn't much care what kind of outfit he has to wear.

One of these noisy families would be just fine for him. No one's interested so far, but the day is young. Like the cats, I watch and wait.

Departed - Thelma

I started the morning at 6:30am, with a cold rainy drive to the crowded airport to drop off the boyfriend. Also, it’s the one year anniversary of my late kitty Muppy’s death. . . so it’s just not shaping up to be that good a day.

I have several emotions churning a year later, beyond the obvious sadness. There are many pleasant memories, the puzzlement of where did those 15 years disappear to, even relief that the end was relatively fast. And guilt – because my Montana, whom I still call the new cat, has nosed his big sweet self pretty far into my psyche.

For a long time he was like a big friendly interloper, despite his attempts to win me over. But I realize in talking to others that he has done just that. Where I first complained about his obsession with kneading my hair and neck and sleeping head to head, now I rationalize it. Tell him he’s a good boy as he gazes adoringly into my eyes, and mean it. And then feel remorse pangs about no longer so much missing, starting to not even remember, all those things about my Muppy.

Which brings me to Thelma. It’s pretty slow at the shelter, which is good because I’m pretty tired, and just bonding with the cats is my speed today. Thelma’s a perky 7 year old brown tabby/calico, with neat stripes that vary in color; she’s long legged, alert and playful. She reminds me in both looks and personality of C.R., a precious cat I lived with for a couple years in the ‘80s.

My former roommate told me C.R. wandered around crying every night after I first moved out of the shared flat. I missed her terribly, and looked forward to updates and occasional visits. But time passed and more time passed, and suddenly those decade or two feline life spans seem cruel and unfair. So many dear little ones, gone and slowly being forgotten.

Thelma’s antics, batting for my attention as I sit spacing out, and Morrison’s plaintive meows from across the corridor, bring me back to the present. "Hey, we’re here now…"

Make it Stop - Evie

I switched my shift to mid-week, so it’s pretty quiet at Maddie’s, at least at first. A few people wander through, but they’re just looking, or seeking a cat fix but aren’t able to adopt.

I stop in to see one of my current favorites, Evie, who happens to be housed in the condo where I first met my boy Montana. She’s a sweet, soft, slightly chunky two year old calico. She’s initially shy but warms up quickly, she shows well, and I can’t believe she’s been here for a month now.

She’s a squirmy girl – she’ll climb partway into my lap, then roll off it and onto the floor next to me, pressing belly up against my leg and deliriously happy to get a belly rub. She purrs loudly and kneads the air with her paws. Evie only gets interested in playing when I’m about to leave, but I’m glad to see she stays out and alert even when I’ve moved across the corridor to meet adorable tabby and white O’Reilly.

They’re doing some kind of constructions upstairs, and suddenly a very loud motor starts up seemingly just above us. O’Reilly stops playing and leaps to the top of his structure, Evie retreats to her bedding, and the other cats I can see are either nervously at their doorways or hidden away.

It’s loud and annoying, but I try to reassure all the kitties that it won’t harm them. And that it will stop, they just have to put up with it for a bit.

I’m unexpectedly reminded of our economy. I spent part of the morning sifting through year end appeals from a host of worthy organizations, and also looking at my 403b and other bank statements. Yeah, there’s a part of me that wants to crawl under the bedding too.

This spiral thing will stop too, right? I’ve got to believe that, and to make my year end donations in spite of the extraordinarily gloomy outlook and outright craziness. (Dude selling Senate seats, for instance, and some of the other pols have to strive to appear surprised or outraged.)

The construction noises sputter and start and stop several times before lessening to a mild drone. The cats remain wary.

On Display - Jenga

I arrive to my shift only to find the shelter is closed 90 minutes beyond its normal 11 am opening. Oops. No reason given. I snag a staff person to let me in the locked side entrance. The shelter is eerily quiet and deserted. I have to confess I kind of like it that way – it’s like some childhood fantasy of sneaking around a giant cat house.

Whole rows of cats need visits. Ideally each cat gets at least one volunteer visitor a day, but some have gone three days since their last socializing session. It’s the time of year, people get busy, plus the Macy’s holiday windows [http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/macys.shtml] are in full swing, taking up many volunteer hours.

I head for some scaredy cats (those unlikely to ever set paw in Macy’s), starting with Jenga. There are several cats in hallway 4 classified via "felinality" as Private Investigator, the most timid rating. But the system falters here – the other cats are cautious and slow to approach; Jenga is the absolute extreme.

She’s a two year old dil tortie who’s been at the shelter since May. The first few times I saw her she stayed fully hidden in a cat cozy, and she hissed and swatted when I made the mistake of offering my hand in for a sniff. In the intervening months the cozy has been removed so her best hiding spot is on a shelf of her climbing structure, where she spends most of her time.

She doesn’t run away, but crouches, eyes wide, ever wary. People have mistreated her, that’s for sure, although I have to guess her nature hasn’t helped. She has quite the stubborn streak. I try to wear her down with soft loving talk. She will allow herself to be touched only by the wooden handle of the dangle toy. This she clearly likes, and each visit now I manage to ease a hand in for some behind the ears stroking (which she enjoys till she realizes what’s happening then stiffens with a mortified expression).

She has the tiniest little purr, just a soft little clicking sound. But she does purr every time I’m there with her. Unless a door opens or someone walks by or something. This is a cat who does not deal well with being on display. I watch her watching me as I bond with Maya, who’s housed across from her. Her eyes meet mine then turn away.

After awhile everyone returns from wherever they were, and cat shoppers wander through, mostly just looking. I’m in with Tara, a frisky eleven year old, when a large group troops by and someone official says, "There’s one of our volunteers playing with a cat!"

Everybody stares in and I self consciously keep dragging the toy around for her to chase. Fortunately Tara is cute and entertaining – nothing like a bunch of strangers seeing your attempts at play disdainfully ignored. But it makes me think of Jenga, how she’s so nervous with eyes upon her. Wish she got it that I get it.

Game Face On - Morrison

Happy day after Thanksgiving. Here’s a holiday I really like – good food and friends, no shopping or songs or explosives, and a nice four day weekend.

Half the town’s at Maddie’s though – a diverse rainbow of San Francisco families and singles are making the rounds. Many are just entertaining themselves and out of town guests, and power to them; it’s better (and cheaper) than mindless consumerism. There are several cute multi-generational groups cooing at the cats. But quite a few others are ready to commit.

Right off the bat, I help a couple who say they’re looking for a pair of kittens after having lost their elderly cats. They have a couple small dogs in the house (properly trained by the prior cats), and one of the guy’s mom lives downstairs and wants a young female. But feisty and friendly eight year old Dante catches their eye, and pretty soon they’re talking about adopting him along with a similarly outgoing kitten.

The brave and bold of the cats have the advantage at the shelter. Talkative Louie has been adopted, as has personality super star Miss Lady. A nd today’s a particularly good day for kitties not bothered by voices and footsteps and kids’ noses pressed up against their windows.

The shelter was closed on Thanksgiving itself, which must have been a break for the shy guys. Morrison is one of these, a pretty seven year old blue point Siamese mix. He’s got lovely blue eyes and a wise expression, but he’s slow to warm up, and tends to stay hidden.

Once he gets comfortable, though, he’s really sweet and eager to please. I visit with him for a bit between helping customers, hoping either someone will notice him on my lap or he’ll stay out by his door and catch people’s eyes.

"You gotta be assertive," I tell him. "I know lots of noise and people can be tiring, but try to make the extra effort." Probably there’s a little lesson here for us quiet cat people.

Sometimes it Takes Awhile - Sprinkles

My volunteer shift starts out slowly. I take a young couple in to see a kitten that they've already met and pretty much already decided on.
The little tabby behaves adorably, and they agree to take her.

Then another young woman asks to see Nikita, a sweet, soft and outgoing tabby. She confesses that she can't have a cat in her apartment but she just really misses having a cat around. She's fairly new in town, maybe a bit lonely too, and we sit and chat and swap cat stories, while little Nikita slithers between us, purring and batting at her toys.

There are a bunch of cats who need socializing visits, and I move condo to condo, spending quiet lap time with a series of shy girls. Ten year old orange and white Sprinkles is finally starting to come out of her shell. She's a big, kind of chunky girl, who usually stays in constant nervous motion – she kneads, rolls around, hides and reappears, kneads some more.

Today, though, she makes it into my lap, and once there forgets her dignity in a big way. She curls into a feet up ball, and starts washing her paws and face, then grabs my had with both her paws to give it a wash. She's so cute but no potential adopters are around to see her.

Toward the end of my shift it gets busier, though. A couple who have been making the rounds have a list of several cats to meet. We start with Evie and Nikita, both young friendly adult females. The women are dressed alike, both with longish blond hair. They are clearly cat people, and explain they had to put down their last cat after he got ill.

As we sit with one then another cat, talking quietly, noting their special characteristics, I discover they only lost their cat a week ago. I realize they are not so much stoic as still numb. The taller of the pair seems the move vulnerable or in need; she's also calling the shots as far as naming the qualities they're seeking and deciding who to visit next.

A delicate but important part of my role involves assessing a potential adopter's fit and readiness to take on the responsibility of a new cat. And while I have no doubt these women would make great kitty parents, I have to gently suggest that it may be too early to get another cat yet.

I avoid telling them how they should feel, but speak about my own experience, of how there was such a huge gap and the strong need to fill it, yet that time of mourning was part of the healing process too. They kind of hear me. But kind of get lost in stroking the cats too, speaking in low voices to each other about how much they like them.

They're leaning toward a gorgeous four month old orange tabby boy. I was hoping they would want an older cat, then I could at least say it would probably still be available in another week. Instead I leave them still thinking things over; the best I can say is that I'm sure whichever and whenever they choose, the cat will be lucky to go home with them. And I take off, reminding myself to be glad I'm almost a year past that immediate and painful period of grief.

Second Chances - Miss Lady

I take at look at the paperwork for long term cats who’ve gone home, and am happy to see that someone finally adopted Adobe. I wouldn’t have thought it would take so long. It’s often hard to predict which adult cats will get scooped up right away and which will languish, especially amongst the so called mature ones.

By happy coincidence, I meet another former long time resident’s adoptive moms. These two very young and kind of androgynous women ask to see little Tabitha. As we pet the shy squirming girl, I ask my usual questions about have they had cats before, and they answer yes, they have two quiet ones at home. They’re a boy and a girl, both gray, and both from Maddie’s.

Of course I inquire further, and learn that the girl is Maggie [http://catcounselor.blogspot.com/2008/05/window-on-world-maggie.html] , who was here for weeks last spring. One of the women whips out her phone to show me a photo, but I assure her I remember what shy Maggie looks like. It took awhile, she says, but Maggie has come fully out of her shell. She’s blossomed in the new home, she loves to be picked up and cuddled, and she runs around playing with the other guy.

I don’t think the young women quite get why I’m so delighted to hear about Maggie, but this is cat volunteer nirvana, the happy ending we hope for with each little visit to our homeless feline friends.

The women aren’t sure and head off to consult with the front desk, and I move on to other kitties. Playful Peter has got a new roomie named Mr. Gray. Peter’s a long hair tabby and white two year old, cheerful and oblivious to the consternation he’s causing Mr. Gray. The nervous gray tabby stays mostly hidden at the top of their climbing structure, poking his head out to be petted, but hissing when Peter hops up for a nose sniff.

Across the hall, I watch the grand entrance of Miss Lady, newly arrived to the adoptable cat area. Often cats freshly transferred by staff need some down time, but this girl confidently moves around her new space checking things out, and trots to the door when visitors enter the hallway.

I go across to meet her, and learn from her card that she’s 16 (!) and FIV+. And frankly she’s a little funny looking – she’s a long, hair tabby and white, with kind of an outsized head, an odd gray mouth, and the somewhat ruffled fur of an older cat.

But is she ever charming. Seriously, she’s a delight. She rubs gently, purring, making good eye contact and putting a soft paw on my arm when I pause in the petting. She chases a toy with mild interest – kind of going through the motions since it seems to be important to me. Then she settles next to me, leaning her top half affectionately on my leg, telling me in every way she can that she’s ready to go home.

Hope it’s a short stay.

Yes We Can! - Tony

What a week, wow. There was dancing on my quiet little street at 8:01 Tuesday night, along with joyous screams and honking horns. It was so fast and decisive! I admit I expected funky stuff in the swing states right up till the end.

Then came the let down the next day with the passage of Prop 8. I just don’t get the religious angle – I mean if you’re coming at it thinking gayness is a sin, wouldn’t you still want the sinners in committed loving partnerships? It’s been an odd, emotionally draining few days. Many people admit to feeling a bit adrift or even let down after all the anticipation. (But every time I hear "President-elect Obama," I feel myself smiling again.)

Good news for the animals, with Prop 2 passing handily. No politics at Maddie’s though, just lonely homeless pets. A woman and little boy are already waiting for a volunteer when I start my shift. She introduces herself as the nanny and explains they’re just testing things out as far as his family getting a cat.

He’s a sweet looking little boy, but I ask him if he knows how to act around animals. He answers yes very seriously, and the nanny explains they regularly visit her cat. (In my head I’m spinning out the movie – there’s such a closeness between these two, she’s got a great combo of affection and simple discipline… is the mom jealous? Will she put her foot down about getting a cat?)

Anyway, they’re interested in Monkey Boy, who’s housed with four other active young males in the large condo you first see upon entering the shelter. They put cats with good attitudes here, since they’re so much on display and have to cope with people and dogs walking by their window.

The five kitties swarm us when we enter. The youngest and sweetest, Cisco, hops onto my lap, the two brown tabbies rub around us vigorously, and all black Monkey Boy makes a beeline for the dangle toy. The kid behaves just fine, if anything he’s a bit intimidated by these confident cats. He circles the room a couple times, and soon frisky tabby Tony is trotting after him thinking it’s a chase game.

The nanny and I agree that these are the sort of cats who would do well in a household with a kid, and we watch them interact – cute on cute. She thanks me and ushers the boy out to go look at kittens. I reach up to pet Stanley, a lovely orange tabby who’s been watching from above. Tony doesn’t want me to forget him too, so he leaps up, practically bowling over Stanley, and they purr and rub for pets even as they start nipping at each other’s ears.

I can see people out in the lobby smiling, watching the show. These guys could entertain me all day, but there are definitely more needy kitties who need some company. Several other people are roaming the hallways, so I leave the boys and go make myself useful.

Oh yeah, President-elect Obama? Your speech rocked, it was so inspiring. Loved the bit about getting the girls a puppy. Why don’t you pick one from the local shelter?
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/11/08/ DDDP13VRPS.DTL&hw=obama+puppy&sn=003&sc=607

You Betcha - Louie

I come in to volunteer a day early this week. (Will be spending Halloween at work, where we’re to have a brown bag lunch with candy and a costume contest… it’s a little like elementary school at my office sometimes. Also, there’s a staff meeting. I’ll be in my Palin outfit, winking heavily made up eyes and using folksy phrases to not answer questions put to me.)

Anyway, I arrive at Maddies on the tail end of a Yes on 2 press conference. Serious looking guys are packing away cameras in the lobby, which is spruced up and sporting large campaign signs. Dozens of Yes on 2 volunteers are milling around eating snacks off small paper plates and chatting.

A few campaign and press people wander the cat halls, mostly talking to each other and just glancing at the cats. With everything going on this weekend, I’m not surprised it’s slow for actual adoptions.

I spend quiet time with some shy girls. Ana’s at least making eye contact with people walking by, and super freaked out Jenga actually lets me stroke her head. Oh and little Becca finally went home, that’s good news for all of us who have worked with her.

Later, a cheerful young woman comes in and talks loud baby talk to each cat she sees, calling out their names and exclaiming how cute and darling they are. This gets a number of them riled up and mewing at their doors. Goofy boy James starts mauling his look alike stuffed animal while keeping an eye toward the door to see who’s watching.

I have to go see Louie, who’s meowing like a car alarm. He’s a slender 4 year old, grey with a tiny white patch on his chest. He’s been classed as shy, but is definitely warming up. He’s friendly and frisky, climbing in and out of my lap and head butting my hand to pet him. He loves the old toy-under-the-rug game, pouncing and sliding comically across the floor.

As soon as anyone enters the hallway, he darts to the door for a look and a meow. Might as well be saying, "vote for me!"

Looking hopefully forward to Nov 4…

Little Girl Charm - Shalimar

I’m running a little late for my volunteer shift, and am surprised to walk past a full parking lot an Maddies. Sometimes people sneak in to use the free parking, but there are also a bunch of people walking around the shelter already.

I check in and see that Kitter and Sammy have been adopted (yay for old cats in new homes!). A number of people are just window shopping, including what appears to be a whole pre-school class.

A friendly young man is interacting with Shalimar through her window. He’s got a guy-on-lunch-break vibe, but is happy to go in and meet her in person. Shalimar is an active, expressive three year old tortie who turns on the charm as soon as we enter her space. She rubs, meows, practically dances between us anxious for petting and ready to play.

The guy gets his cat fix, thanks me, and leaves. Shalimar stays by her door ready to snare another customer. I watch from across the hall as a sweet little girl in a sailor dress comes tiptoeing into the hallway followed by her dad. She crouches at each doorway, narrating the cats’ activities. Shalimar rubs the door, arching up as if she’s being petted even with the door between them.

It’s like cute little girl day today – towards the end of my shift another sweet little girl comes prancing into hallway 4 with her mom. They ask to see a brand new pair of Siamese kittens. I’m a little skeptical – these are shy kittens and the girl is young. But they both assure me they know how to act around animals.

Indeed they do. We all sit, quietly talking, and wait for the kittens to approach. They’re looking for a quiet cat companion for the cat at home who recently lost her good buddy. There are also a couple dogs in the house. But the mom cuddles one of the kittens and the girl entertains me with a barely coherent monologue about all the animals at home.

She knows to talk softly, but she keeps cracking herself up and giggling into her hand. She wiggles a toy around, urging the kittens to play and bouncing with delight when one of them extends a paw towards it.

I watch the shy little kitten. This new household will be quite a challenge for her. But she’ll be growing up with a very sweet little friend.

Shaky Ground - Ana

Is the economic crisis having an impact on the SPCA? I count only four potential customers over my three hour shift, and only one of them needs help (she makes a quick selection of a shy orange kitten, assuring me her two kids will love him).

So extra time with the feline friends. As I write in the date on the volunteer log, it strikes me. October 17 – has it really been 19 years since Loma Prieta? So many things have changed since then (and I don’t just mean the Giants and As in the 1989 World Series). Like cell phones. They were new back then; a friend who lived in the East Bay and worked in the city told how one woman in a crowd gathered to catch a ferry (BART had stopped running and the power was out) passed hers around so that everybody else could call loved ones and say they were ok.

I figured things were not as bad as they first seemed by the time I made it home, also sans BART. Walking several miles from South of Market (back when that was a gritty area) to my flat near City College, I only saw modest damage. The plume of smoke from the Marina was worrying, but otherwise mostly people were hanging out on a hot night. And my cat Pepe greeted me at my door meowing indignantly for her delayed dinner. She was an unusually mellow cat, it’s true, but she didn’t seem to even have noticed the quake.

The threat of a really big one has been with us every day since. Now I keep a food and water supply, a solar powered radio and flashlight, the cat carrier handy near my door. But since around November ’89 I haven’t really worried much. I don’t want to live always scared, anticipating the next blow.

Which brings me to little Ana. Some bad stuff has happened to her, it’s obvious by the way she huddles in a nervous ball, how she flinches at a gentle hand coming toward her. She’s a pretty 5 year old brown tabby with big sorrowful eyes. She has a couple scarred areas on her sides, and her ears look a bit chewed up.

Her safe spot is at the top of her climbing structure. She won’t leave it, but lets me pet her there, mewing nervously during the first few strokes. Then she curls around one way and another, purring and kneading, never closing her eyes but looking up sideways, wary and needy both.

Poor girl. Yes, it can be a dangerous world for a little cat. Or for anyone living in the big city on the fault line. I’d like to get her to that point of not feeling nervous every waking minute though.

Boo Angels - Sammy

Well, another Fleet Week, and I’m doing my best to avoid the whole northern part of town. Don’t even get me started on the Blue Angels – whoops, too late! – they waste fuel, they pollute, they represent an ill-used US military, they’re dangerous (crashes are rare but not unheard of and this is a densely populated place).

And their ear shattering roar absolutely terrifies animals. Even the mellowest look anxious, and a more sensitive animal can really freak out from the noise. My Muppy used to hide for hours after the air shows, even from just a couple fly overs. I feel my own blood pressure rise. It boggles my mind that people come from out of town for this. If you want to see people doing amazing things in formation, check out some synchronized diving.

Not surprisingly, the shelter is fairly empty of potential adopters. I do help a polite and soft spoken couple who are checking out the kittens, and who seem at least close to making a final decision. Otherwise, only a few people wander around just looking at the cats.

I tell myself I’m mostly here to comfort the cats this soon to be noisy day. But it goes both ways. Sammy, a ridiculously sweet and friendly plus pretty 12 year old silver tabby, gets me laughing and forgetting the outside world. He stands at the door meowing until I go in to see him. Then he rubs around possessively, purring and squirming onto my lap, and gazing up adoringly. Next comes his signature move: he reached both paws up, one on each shoulder, and rubs his face around my chin and neck.

It’s funny and sweet and, well, a little disturbing because he’s been drooling. But what a nice boy. Then he slowly sinks back down my chest to my lap, stray fur and a bit of drool trailing on my apron, and settles happily, looping his pretty striped tail around my arm.

Sammy is calm and content, purring softly, his little mouth curved into what looks like a smile. Another hour at least before the planes start up. It’s not that the air shows are the only bothersome thing around. Animals in a shelter are nervous anyway, and cats in general tend to be a bit on edge. I mean, it’s too bad so many of them are here in the first place.

But for now, Sammy and I sit and enjoy the quiet.

Great Escape - Adobe

My volunteer shift is bookended with older women adopting kittens after having lost their old cats, though they otherwise could hardly be more different. The first has already made up her mind and spends just a minute or so with her single choice before announcing she’ll take her. She tells me it’s her birthday, and her friend in the hallway will be paying the adoption fee. He smiles at her, but looks barely interested in the cat.

The other woman is far more contemplative. She’s just getting started on her search, and really intends to get a sense of the little creatures. She wants to get her new companion used to company and even able to sometimes travel with her, so she needs to find a special, trainable, open minded kitty.

There are a fair number of people around during the lull in the middle too. A pair of painters come to fix a leaky area in the end of hallway 5. Nearby cats react predictably – little Becca cowers and hides, "band leader" Tory glues herself to the doorway pawing for their attention, and Kitter watches for a bit, then falls asleep.

I seek a quieter place in hallway 4, but walk in to find a pair of men leaning down from their canes to pet a big orange and white cat in the middle of the hall. They all look pleased with themselves, and I feel a little bad breaking up the party, but I pick up the escapee and gently toss her into the condo with the open door.

The men assure me that they didn’t let her out but she just wandered out while they were standing there. They seem sincere. They look like those guys who play bocce ball in the park – older, but feisty and fun-loving still. Just looking around, they say, and limp off down the corridor, pointing out cats that remind them of other cats they know or knew.

Adobe, meanwhile, meows from her doorway for a visit, eager for more company. She’s on the chunky side, with an orange head and white chest, a strong growly purr and a loud, demanding meow. Affectionate and drooly, she tromps across my lap pausing to knead and rub my hand with her head.

Not sure if she’s named for the building material or the software company or what. I think I might call her Steve McQueen – really, when I first returned her to her little room she looked like she wanted to take out a baseball and toss it in disgust.

A staffer comes by and I mention finding her in the hall. He nods, says it’s not the first time, that she can get the door open if it’s not clicked fully shut. She sits by me, purring happily, her little pink tongue just visible between her lips.

I still think of this particular condo as Emmy’s room. This is where the boyfriend’s older cat was housed back seven years ago when we toured the place and he found her. (Happy coming home anniversary, big girl! Glad you made your escape.)

September - Junior

Autumn manifests itself at the shelter not with the city’s standard summer-like heat, but by a dearth of campers, and fewer kittens and fewer volunteers. They put little plastic hearts on the condos of cats who haven’t had visits recently, and over a dozen have gone three days without a volunteer visitor.

First up, though, a young couple (appearance suggests high school, but the fact they’re living together and looking for a kitten has me guess just out of college) are waiting anxiously in hallway 1. Though Maddies has only been open fifteen minutes, the first kitten they chose, from a group of adorable orange tabby and calicos, just got snapped up by someone who had gone straight to the front desk.

The remaining bunch are cuddly-cute, so it’s not too hard for them to select another one. (I’m thinking, first, that I can barely tell the difference between these tiny creatures, and second, hey guys, do you realize your new cat will most likely still be your baby in the year 2020? Can you imagine your life that far from now, wouldn’t an older cat make more sense?)

But it’s their choice, and they pick a sweet medium hair calico fluff ball. I head off to see what are unfortunately some regulars. Sweet soft Kitter, who really craves human companionship, and shy Becca, and even shyer Helen.

Junior watches from across the hall, waiting patiently for his turn. He’s a massive 22 pound black and white boy, ironically named yet it suits him. What a sweet, fat lovey guy. Really, it’s pretty rare for me to find a cat who makes my boy look small in comparison – but where Montana is short legged and chunky, Junior is even fatter plus long limbed.

He’s on the shy side too, and on the old side at age nine. But he still likes to play, and he bats my toy around as well as rubbing, purring and delicately licking my hand. His motor is loud enough to hear out in the hallway, and I keep hoping someone will come by and see him, be drawn in by his older guy charm.

No such luck; the kittens are still the most in demand. After awhile a vivacious model-like young woman asks to see another set of kittens, saying she likes orange ones and tabbies. When I mention the other room with the orange kittens she says no, that that whole group has been adopted just in the last couple hours.

Like the first couple, her initial choice was already selected by an earlier adopter. This woman has grown up with cats and her mother shelters feral kittens – she clearly gets it about the responsibility and everything. She settles on a striking 2 month old orange tabby boy and a smaller but slightly older golden eyed all black girl. Halloween kittens, she calls them, calling her husband to urge him to get down right away before anyone else sees them.

I point her towards the front desk where she can get her paperwork started, and stake her claim. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that the kittens are finding homes. Just wish they all could be as lucky.

Volunteers of America - Becca

No volunteering for me this week. The boyfriend and I spent the week touring Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons (which I heartily recommend). Looks like NPR did a series on Yellowstone [http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94114095] while we were gone, so don’t just take my word for it – very cool place. I guess I was expecting a few geysers and occasional glimpses of wildlife, but there is amazing hydrothermal/ volcanic/water shooting and mud spewing stuff all over the place. And we saw herds of bison right on our hiking trails, as well as hawks, elk, coyotes and a moose.


Anyway, as a volunteer, I was especially appreciative of all the volunteers around who helped us out. Visitor centers had volunteer rangers who were knowledgeable and helpful in recommending sights and hiking trails, and at one point we joined a geyser tour led by this woman from San Diego who knew pretty much everything about geysers, hot springs, fumaroles, etc. She did a good job keeping things moving and offering insights even in the face of one tourist who asked some amusingly dumb questions.

But boy did I miss the cat. This was my first significant time away from Montana since I brought him home last February. I longed for his presence, his head butts and adoring gazes, and I worried about how he was doing with a once a day sitter (was he regressing and hiding, would he remember me when I got back?) It got to the point where I stopped at a visitor center display of various animals including samples of their fur to touch, and I stood there all sad and stroking some soft red fox fur.

And on one hike where we saw a bunch of bison, this massive one who had been sleeping roused himself and wallowed in dirt, his legs flailing spectacularly in the air. While the boyfriend took pictures, I found myself just reminded of my boy, who does the same sort of thing on the rug after his nap.

It probably won’t come as a shock to learn that my Montana survived while I was gone. He mostly hid and didn’t eat that well, but was ecstatic to see me when I got back. He’s trying to get all his butting and kneading, playing and eating that he missed last week in today, it seems, and he’s a happy – if still the tiniest bit anxious – guy. He got over his anxiety pretty fast the first time, as I recall.

Just checked the SPCA website to see who might have come and gone at Maddies. I see Becca is not only still there, but the featured adoptable cat. Sweet little 6 year old tabby girl, who’s taken awhile to come out of her shell. I’ll be happy to visit her and hopefully show her next time I’m there, but would like to see her gone.

Anyway, it’s good to be back. The air here feels heavy and wet after the high desert. It’s a relief to be back in a blue state, back in the city where I can get quality organics right at the nearby market and go places without needing a car, nice to catch up on the Chron. We heard just snippets of the economic melt down news out there in vacation land.

One more observation, though, speaking of the economy (which folks really should be speaking of this election cycle!) – we drove a big loop from Salt Lake City, spending time in Utah, Idaho and Wyoming. Sure, a lot of it was in the United Nations-like national parks, but even spending the night in Kemmerer WY (home of the fish fossil and also mighty down home; we did not blend), I saw some stickers and billboards for local county commissioners and such, but no McCain signs. Just saying.

Cat People – Meet People Cats - Vigo

I like shy little girl kitties, but today it’s pretty much all about the good boys. Carlos catches my attention right away, all but flagging me down from his window as I walk down the main hallway.

He’s a large tabby and white boy, super friendly (“leader of the band”) but also a little anxious. He’s got a curtain up blocking sightlines from his door, because he’s “uncomfortable with other cats in a shelter situation.”

But he’s very comfortable with people – he rolls around my lap, purring and kneading and still trying to catch the attention of anyone else passing by in the hallway. A PR person leads a group of a dozen or so on a tour down the hall, and Carlos leaps up to start pawing the window.

Once I manage to tear myself away (or pull my lap out from under the very affectionate and determined to stay seated Carlos), I meet Vigo. He’s a precious 4 year old orange tabby, a bit more shy but very loving. He’s basically scared of the world but has a very strong wish to be stroked every minute, and it’s a cute little slinky balancing act. I pet him, get him to chase a toy around and admire what’s got to be the cutest little spotted nose in the place.

Hulk Hogan watches us from across the hall. He’s a big lovey boy too. A young couple moving quickly along the corridor pause to comment on how big the Hulk is, and wonder to each other if having a fat cat would reflect badly on them. (How shallow, I think, although almost simultaneously I have to admit I've had such thoughts on occasion myself.) But really, any of these guys would be a welcome addition to a home.

I saw a bunch of people I hadn’t seen for awhile earlier this week (happy 50th, Greenbelt Alliance!). Lots of comparing notes about jobs and kids growing up and pet updates. Saddly, some losses there. It’s part of the cycle. To a person, though, the pet people have gotten or plan to get new animal companions. It’s the kind of thing you just can’t do without for very long once you're used to having a pet around.

Middle of the Road - Nandina

Well, I started out the week all amused by the Republican world, the timing of the Katrina reminders, the day to day revelations about the surprise VP to be (my first reaction, no doubt like many San Franciscans: I just found my Halloween costume!). And I’m a firm believer in keeping a politician’s family out of the limelight and off limits to mockery, but that’s been a challenge… and I’d like to suggest that it’s time for the politicians to not run on their families but on their proposed polices, please.

But Gustav proved lessons had been learned and then went away, first excusing Bush & Cheney from appearing within 1,000 miles of St. Paul. Palin delivered the Bush speechwriter’s speech well, and swing state suburban women seemed to like her. Even assuming the standard cheating – er, shortage of polling places, etc. – those middle of the roaders will be decisive. Yep, most air’s seeped out of my bubble.

Off to Maddie’s, where deflated moods can be at least temporarily lifted. Not nearly as many people there this week, but there are a few. First thing, a fellow volunteer helps a pair of friends locate their perfect kitten, a tiny shy all black fellow. The woman doing the adopting posts her friend at his condo door to ward off any competition.

I’m watching this from my visit with Mack and Mabel across the hall. Partly they rub around and bat at toys, partly they watch the action in the hallway too. These people look average. Would they be more swayed by a feisty hockey mom or by the potential of a decade of right wing Supreme Court decisions?

Anyway, average is a poor term applied to living things. My next visit is to Nandina, a Sidekick, according to her "feline-ality" testing. That’s the cat middle of the road, average sociability and average braveness. She's a young, multi-hued long hair, a bit of a drama queen, but cuddly and nice. She likes having company but also wants to know what's going on in the corridors around her.

Then I spend time with Giselle, another Sidekick. Giselle is also so much her own kitty. Unusually beautiful (and sure to be adopted fast), she’s a two year old light tabby with large swirly markings, and a couple little freckles to keep her face from perfection. She’s bright eyed, active and chatty. Ears perked, she stands tall on my leg and kneads, then darts off to chase a toy with abandon.

Mack also tested middle of the road Sidekick. Any of them will make a fine pet, but they will act pretty differently from each other in their new homes. Which points out a flaw in other sorts of testing, polling or assumptions based on a few questions to a few people. Gotta hope there’s some independent thinking out there in the middle America.

(One more thing? Why do people want a VP who might be elevated to the Presidency to be like someone they’d meet at the PTA? I mean, no matter what your political views, wouldn’t unusual brilliance and vision be more laudable?)

It's a Virtue, Right - Helen

The day before a long weekend, I expect a crowd at the shelter. In keeping with the crowds everywhere else… if you've been downtown this week, you know what I'm talking about. Tourists galore!

Yesterday I saw a young pair almost get hit by a car, a result of their wandering across Kearny Street against the light. They seemed puzzled by the honks and yells; they're on vacation, the normal rules of traffic don't really apply here, do they?

Other drivers just looked resigned, and waited patiently for the intersection to clear. People have big plans for the weekend – a dash out of town, a visit to the big city, an orgy of slow food eating. I'll be okay with some good meals (cooked in the home kitchen) and Lincecum pitching another winner.

Anyway, I'm kept busy at Maddie's. I show the same group of kittens to two different families, and explain the shelter's policies to some out-of-town visitors. Then I spend a good long time with a good hearted but very indecisive man.

He's gone through the whole list of cats on the website and already spent half a day here earlier in the week. He's got specific criteria in his search for cat number two – small, young, shy, and ok with being picked up – and he's written down a long list of possibilities.

We meet seven different kitties, spending awhile with each. He picks them up, examines them up down and sideways, and asks a lot of questions, only some of which I can really answer. I can guess about behavior and make recommendations about introducing new cats, but I don't know much about our kitties' pasts, nor how his cat will feel about them. He's just not sure. (And if he doesn't know his own mind, then I'm afraid I don't know it either.)

I try to be patient, and attentive as he muddles things through. Finally, he heads to the front desk for more input.

I return to little Helen, one of the two who did not make the (er somewhat) short list. She's a young and pretty calico, but she's got a very difficult disposition. Something has spooked her badly.

She'll act friendly toward people in the hallway, but when someone actually enters her space she hisses and retreats. She doesn't sniff fingers like a normal cat, or exhibit much curiosity. Rather she crouches in her hiding spot, not making eye contact, looking annoyed.

Not surprisingly, she's been at the shelter awhile. It'll take a very quiet and persevering person to finally draw her out. I sit and talk to her for a bit. Then dangle a toy for her – darting out to bite the end of the toy is the only reaction I've drawn from her so far.

Today, though, Helen surprises me. She gets so into the toy that she leaves her hiding spot and trots across the room pursuing it. Then sits – not hidden! – and puts up with me talking to her. She still won't accept petting, but neither does she swat at my hand. Like many others – she just needs lots of extra patience.

Making Myself Useful - Kitter

I’ve barely got my apron on when my first customer approaches. She’s already been through the shelter and has a selection of young adult cats she wants to meet. A cat person and recent veteran of an 18 year long cat relationship, she need little assistance; I’m just there to open the doors and confirm her thought process. Not surprisingly, she settles on the top kitty on her list, the first one we met.

Soon after, a group of young people want to meet some kittens. Initially, one young man comes in a small condo with just two shy kittens. Unfortunately, the little gray one he likes hides completely and can’t be coaxed out. By this time the group in the hallway has swelled to seven or eight, a youthful, mixed race group that’s mostly men, and I’m going to say mostly gay. (Hard to tell with these young guys, possibly they’re merely gentle, friendly and unusually well groomed?)

Four of them accompany me into a bigger condo housing six kittens. It’s cuteness squared. I gather that two of the guys are a couple, and they don’t know the others – but they all pass the kittens around while the people still in the hallway call in info about age and names from the cards on the door.

The original guy decides on a sweet little gray and white girl. When I offer to write down her ID number, he says he’s got it, and whips out his phone to jot down the number and snap a couple photos. (Up to this point, I was unaware of the cell phone’s use as a notepad.) I, with my so last century pencil and scrap paper, again feel a bit superfluous. But I’m glad he found his kitty.

The main group troop off together, talking enthusiastically. I take the couple in to look at a few more kittens, and they agree on an adorable shy tabby. They’re impressed this tiny guy seems to know already what he likes and doesn’t like.

At last, some quiet time to socialize the grown cats. I meet Kitter for the first time. She’s a pretty, soft and sweet gray fur ball, a long hair 11 year old with a loud purr, loving disposition, and a funny anxious meow. She rubs and purrs, alternating between happy feet kneading and rolling across my lap. After a bit, she calms down and curls up, blinking up at me to say how happy she is that I’m here with her.

And I remember why I’m here too. It’s all part of the process.

But Wait - There's More! - Simon

They’re having another cat sale at Maddie’s. Maybe hoping to move more adult cats during kitten season? I’m not sure the general public quite appreciates these price fluctuations. It’s like with modern airfares – you’re psyched when you get a good deal, but it kind of ups the anxiety level in general to know the rates may still rise or fall.

There’s also a new flyer posted with info about myths concerning black cats. The powers that be here generally don’t gear towards middle aged eye sight, so I can barely read it, but presumably the word is black cats make fine pets. Agreed!

I visit Simon and Nicki, both mostly black, who have the flyer posted on their door. They’re both timid and have been housed together with the hopes of being good company, but so far they appear to have divided the room in half and taken sides to prevent interacting. More like two thirds, one third, actually, with Simon taking up more space. He’s a sweetie, young, thin and leggy, a mixture of friendly and shy. He rubs vigorously, purring and even drooling a bit, but his eyes stay dilated, just on the edge of fearful even as he laps up my company.

An older woman in a motorized wheelchair wants to meet Gigi, who’s across the hall. Good test of the facility’s access. (It’s designed to accommodate wheelchairs with wide doors and low handles and everything, but reality can be different from design.) Not a problem – she maneuvers in and the cats back away at the sight and sound of the chair, allowing me to reach around and shut the door.

She tells me, in a pronounced Russian accent, about her calico cat that died at 16. She likes the calicos and orange tabbies, and we check out several. The cats split about evenly between being fascinated and frightened by the moving chair. I don’t think she’s actually planning to adopt (she notes that even the sale cost is too expensive), but she's relishing the physical contact. One cat tries, but nobody escapes into the hallway.

It’s not till my last ten minutes that I help a serious customer, a woman around my age who’s brought along another cat person friend. They’ve already met Mack and Mabel, and ask to see Trigger and Fluff, a pair of five year old brothers who are newly arrived. One’s a tabby, the other a lynx point, but it’s pretty clear they’re related. They rub and purr, make eye contact, almost dance around between us. They’re great cats, they have that intangible something that makes me wonder how they could possibly have ended up here in the first place.

The woman still has a roommate to consult, but she’s smitten. We all are. She says these are the ones, and hurries out to the front counter, not wanting to see any others. "Don’t be cute for other people," she tells them as she leaves.

I glance back in at Simon before I take off. He’s sitting up, alert, paws crossed under his chin, kind of emphasizing the little white spot on his nose. He can go ahead and be cute and be on sale.

It Had to be a Dog Called Booger - Mabel & Mack

People who knew of my devotion to my late cat Muppy have asked if I would have wanted her cloned. Like the dog in question, sure, it was hard to let her go. http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/08/06/MNM7125HBD.DTL

But when you spend time at the shelter, the answer is a resounding NO. There are so many unique and wonderful pets needing homes already.

I understand wanting to renew a cherished relationship. (And I loved that the departed Booger’s clone-sponsor named the puppies Booger Lee, Booger Ra, etc. in honor of the docs… um, thanks.) But I think everyone, people and animals, are more than their basic DNA. Environment and growth and relationships, serendipitous coincidences and chance encounters have a huge impact on how someone turns out. Sometimes it’s just luck, and I wonder if that really can – or should – be recreated.

I’m missing lucky 8-8-08 at Maddie’s; work interfering with life again. But there are a few customers looking around the day before. A couple with 2 cats at home are searching for the right personality match for a third. They’ve narrowed it to three. I’m always interested in how people make these choices. Often people choose between very similar cats. But in this case, the candidates vary widely: a 3 month old kitten, big super friendly long hair Mercedes, and tiny skittish tabby girl Libra. They head off to consult with a cat behaviorist.

I visit Mabel and Mack, a bonded pair of seven year olds, siblings, all gray, soft and sweet. (Just an aside – it’s been several years since my mother died, but sometimes I still have a little flash, an impulse of thinking I should call and tell her about this. She especially liked soft gray kitties, and would have adored these two.)

Anyway, visually, I can barely tell them apart without their handy blue and pink collars. But they’re quite different in person, despite being siblings raised together since birth. Mack is bolder, rubbing and rolling around hopping on and off my lap. Mabel is cautious, wary at first. She moves slowly, but winning her gentle affection is more gratifying.

And I value that uniqueness.

Find a friend... http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/adoption_cat.html

Low Care Diet - Storm

I suppose I should mention the 44 pound cat. (I’m not even going to bother with a url; you’re here, so you’ve heard about him.) But really, what does it say about our irresponsible society that someone didn’t read the fine print and had a house in foreclosure, and then abandoned her cat? Having first let him balloon to such excess weight (and named him Powder)? Save us from ourselves, President Obama!

A small upside is it makes the rest of us with overweight cats look better. Some animals (including people) certainly pack on the pounds easier than others, yes, but everybody needs limits. My boy came home a chunky 17 pounds, and he’s not lost weight. But I feed him reasonable amounts of adult weight loss kibble, and play with him at least twice a day, trotting up and down the hall with toys for him to chase.

You could almost see the gears turning in his little walnut sized brain though, and after a couple passes he’s going "enough of this already" and flops on his side, willing only to bat at what he can reach from his back. And I tell myself he’s at least a happy boy, very comfortable in his relatively new home; at Maddie’s he cowered and barely ate.

The shelter is busy again, with a low cat shopper to volunteer ratio, and I spend the bulk of my time there showing cats. First a young couple with all the paperwork want to check out a variety of cats and kittens. The guy is fairly cat savvy, but the young woman seems a bit tentative around the friskier kitties, and asked dog-type questions (ex. how often do they need a bath). Those two wander around during my whole shift, indecisive or just undertaking a very thorough search.

A tall and cheerful single woman asks to see Hendry, a striking 10 year old lynx mix with a partly shaved back and stubby curled tail. She’s met him before and he greets us with what I swear is the loudest meow I’ve ever heard. They’re delighted with each other, and so perfect together that Meg Ryan would play her in their romance movie. She says she can’t adopt today but she’ll be back.

Next a pair of youngish guys are looking for a companion for a shy cat at home. They’re both cute in a Central Valley baseball fan kind of way, and I take them to be straight buddies, but maybe my gaydar’s off; later they joke about a cat having a trannie name. Anyway, we check out several and they choose LeBron, a lovely sweet gray girl who would be good company for just about anyone.

At last I can spend some quiet time with some quiet kitties. We have several who are very scared, not even well adjusted enough to fully enjoy human companionship.

Storm is one of these – she’s small and gray, only a year old and very pretty, but too scared yet to even rise from her safe spot and come out for pets. I reach back to stroke her gently, keeping my voice soft. Then I try playing, and she offers some cautious bats at the toy but she’s really not into it. She’s not eating much either – she’s quite thin. It’s a different kind of problem than Powder the 44 pounder, but somebody’s not treated her right either. C’mon, people!

Playground Rules - Prince

My volunteer day is extra busy, because I start out meeting a friend and her two young nephews at a nearby playground. She alone is in charge of the boys all day (I know all the mommy-bloggers would think what’s the big deal, but it is a big deal if you’re not used to kids). She’s fine but I’m there to help. They’re both energetic, and the younger one is big for his age of two – he looks capable but needs near constant watching.

This action packed 90 minutes gives me new appreciation for the people who bring kids to visit the animals at Maddie’s. The boys are go go go, just barely kept amused by all the activities and other kids at the park, and continually on the lookout for something new and exciting. Little friendships and alliances form and fade. My friend worries that the boys will hurt themselves or other, smaller children, and I try to convince her that these occasional spats and tumbles are the nature of children.

At the relative calm of Maddie’s, I check and see that both sets of kittens I showed last week are gone, as is Big Boy. But several of the longer term cats are still here, unfortunately. Fewer people around than last week. Vacation time, mid summer. The first people I help, an older, sort of hipster tanned California couple, tell me they’re just checking things out, that they can’t adopt yet because they’re going on vacation. In fact, they are hesitant to even visit the cat they’re drawn to, afraid of getting too attached.

They return after a bit and visit sweet Shanti anyway. She’s a soft, shy dill calico who has been here since June. They don’t stay long, but they take down her name and info; danger of falling in love is imminent.

So I go to visit my friend Marco, who once again has new roommates. They’re all three attention hogs, "personal assistants," the sorts of cats who want to be with people constantly. Curly is a perky and playful brown tabby with an odd backwards curling tail. And Prince, he’s charming – a thin, long limbed orange tabby with huge green eyes. He’s slithers up, initially a bit afraid, but leans next to me, gazing up adoringly.

None of these guys wants the others to get the most attention. There’s a kind of similar dynamic to the playground, actually, with a few hisses and paw swipes to establish territory and dominance. Now I’m the one who worries, will they hurt each other? But I tell myself they’ll be fine, they’re just working things out.

Prince won’t sit on my lap on his own, but when I pull him there, he crouches slowly, then curls his paws up and starts up a barely audible purr. Marco accepts my other hand petting his head, and Curly happily bats a toy. Order established, for now.

May I Help You? - Big Boy

Last night my workplace held its annual fundraiser. Very successful event: well attended, with short speeches and high bidding on the auction items, and only a mild sense of dissonance as a gathering of people supporting legal aid schmoozed over wine and laid down cash for high end restaurant meals and boutique or other expensive sorts of things.

These events are hard work for the staff though. Lots of preparation, and then the pressure of being the customer service people as 200 plus attendees arrive and register. Minor glitch when the guest elected official showed up and wasn’t recognized (to be fair, he was a last minute substitution and his handler steered him to the wrong end of the alphabet of name tags). But he was cool about it. I like a politician with at least a dose of humility.

And I think everyone should give service work a try at some point in their lives – gives you a sympathetic understanding to people just doing their jobs.

So today, with a bit of a post event headache, I hope for a quiet shelter day. No such luck for me, but happily for the cats there are a bunch of serious adopters. My customer service role here is easy and familiar at least. And humbling to boot – whatever accomplishments I may claim elsewhere, at Maddie’s I’m a cheerful woman in a dorky apron ready to show the cats.

Among several people checking out the kittens are a couple who are around my age. They’re specifically looking for a black and white kitten, having recently lost an 18 year old, and we bond talking about those special cheerful kitties. As we talk, one of them picks up and holds a darling little Siamese mix, who proceeds to curl up and sleep right there in her cupped hand. Very cute, but they still want a black and white.

I suggest that they can always come back again if they don’t find the right kitten today, since we’ll have lots of them all summer. She explains that they’re school principals on vacation so they want to have the free time to spend with the new cat. Both women are in jeans and t-shirts, and I’m amused thinking that they must feel refreshingly anonymous here, away from school and all its demands on their roles.

Of course all this all kind of pales when you think about the cats here. Former pets, most of them, emperors of a household turned please-adopt-me beggars on display in little glass doored rooms. It’s the ultimate of humbling experiences for many of these dignified creatures.

Which brings me to Big Boy. His name says it all – he’s a large regal tabby with a big voice and a bigger attitude. A so called Band Leader, feisty and demanding, he’s like a CEO somehow landed in a homeless shelter, and he’s telling everyone who passes it’s a mistake and he needs to get out.

I show him to a couple friends who probably won’t adopt but feel compelled to meet him. He shows great, rubbing amongst us equally, with purrs, head butts, even paws up on shoulders as we sit attending to his meows. I’m not worried about him, someone will take him home soon. And he can put this sad episode behind him and go back to his proper place adored by all and ruling the roost.

How 'bout a Group Hug? - Donna

My territory is suddenly infused with campers. Herds of them romp on the closest hiking trail, and the summer camp is in full swing at Maddie’s. Not exactly my scene; I’ve never been big on gatherings of children, not even as a child. Then as now, I’m more comfortable relating to one or two at a time. I sure would have enjoyed the cat aspect of this camp as a kid, just not having to be outgoing and part of a loud group.

I do enjoy outgoing kitties. (Ok, I pretty much like all cats. But I mean as opposed to preferring less demonstrative people.) Donna and Kellie, for instance, are a delightful bonded pair, both strikingly pretty three year old torbis. Donna’s a short hair and Kellie long, and they’re both classed as Leader of the Band, the most sociable and brave of cats.

Donna shoots right out the door when I open it, in fact, and we have a comic little interlude of me trying to herd her back, then finally lifting and tossing her back in order to fend off Kellie’s escape. Oops. Fortunately no campers are there to witness this. Donna’s wonderful, purring and rubbing, meowing into my face, putting her paws up on my shoulder then kind of guiding my hand forward to lick it. Kellie circles, us also rubbing happily.

In the hallway, a staffer leads a family to Kiley’s condo, and we all three watch. Kiley’s another outgoing girl, a sweet young friendly tabby. (It’s beyond me to understand how anyone could have given any of these cats up.) The parents look young to even be married much less have a kid of six or so. But the three of them stand smiling as the staffer boxes Kiley, and loads them down with supplies – instructions, food, litter, litterbox, etc. They leave talking excitedly, the little girl proudly carrying Kiley in her cardboard carrying case.

"That could be you soon, girls," I tell them, and they cock their precious heads, flatteringly responsive. It’s tougher for a pair to get adopted. We’ve had some other, shyer pairs here for several weeks now. B ut these girls are such rambunctious winners, I see a bright future for them. Lots of people like group activities and romping fun.

Happy Holiday - Gabriel

The shelter is teeming with both customers and volunteers on the day before Independence Day. Lots of people starting the long weekend early, plus Maddie’s has temporarily discounted costs to get the kittens and longer term cats moving. (I’m a little skeptical about this, I mean half price kitten sale, is that what we want to motivate people to adopt? But, hey, if you’re thinking of adopting anyway, now’s a good time to save some bucks.)

And may I just say, on behalf of pets in homes and shelters everywhere, the 4th of July is a sucky holiday. How does it bum me out, let me count the ways… explosions, loud booms, things on fire, crowds, air pollution, grilling of processed animal flesh, mindless consumerism and thoughtless flag waving... For the animals, even the bravest are troubled by the climactic noises of the evening, and it falling on a Friday won’t help. Yeah, half the state’s on fire, but let’s all run out and buy M-80s.

Here, today, is more what I would seek if designing a holiday. Smiling people wandering the corridors, discussing the merits of various cats. Quiet moments with the kitties, making those matches. Purrs and licks.

I show Appolonia, a pretty shy and slender little tabby, to a nice mellow couple. They’re gentle and quiet, and cautious in their approach to her. This little girl started out very scared and is just blossoming a bit after several weeks (and let’s hope the fireworks don’t throw her for a loop). Now she weaves around between us, rubbing and our nudging hands, and the guy in particular seems taken with her. The man and woman communicate easily, just murmuring a few phrases back and forth, and make decisions in the comfortable way of people in a good long term relationship. Happily, they want to adopt her, and hurry off to start the paperwork, as the shelter is closing early.

I continue to the end of the hallway, where charming Gabriel is casting a spell on me. What a sweet pretty boy, a big striped tabby, outgoing and playful. He’s housed with Mandolina and Marco, both affectionate young black and white cats. Poor Marco has seen a series of roommates come and go, but the good news is he’s getting along with the roomies fine now. Good thing, because Gabriel is a washer.

You can probably divide even the world of cat people into those who do and don’t like being licked by a friendly sandpaper tongue. I like it fine, and apparently so does Marco. So here we sit – Marco curled possessively on my lap, licking his own paw, Mandolina on a stool behind me, purring loudly as she nuzzles my hair, and sweet Gabriel, eyes blinking contentment as he goes back and forth from licking my arm to a thorough grooming of Marco’s face and neck.

This is my holiday.

Kitten Season - Jackson

The boyfriend has family in from out of town, so I’ve rearranged my schedule a bit. No matter – it’s the start of kitten season, so the shelter’s full of felines and adopters both.

The kittens used to be mostly housed in locked cages in large separate rooms. That made finding them and handling them easier, although it was sad to see those tiny faces and hear their squeaky voices from behind bars. The thing is, though, the kittens go fast. They’re fuzzy and cute and much in demand, plus most of them are pretty content rolling around a small space with a sibling or two and then curling up in a litterbox for a nap.

Now they’re staying in regular condos, four or five to a room, in different hallways. This gives them more running around room, and boy do they use it. From a more sedate condo across the hall, I watch a group of two month olds just tearing up and down their climbing structure. They must be from two litters (or else mom-cat really got around), a couple little black and whites and three other larger variations of tabbies.

One of the tabbies tumbles down with a squeak, and another takes this as a cue to jump on him and roll together in a head to tail ball, both making the least threatening growling noises you can imagine. The smallest one is mesmerized by the TV, which is showing the usual video of birds and squirrels. The kitten crouches, as if stalking a televised pigeon at least twice her size.

They’re adorable all right. But I prefer the adult cats. Ever seen the Puppy Bowl? It was on cable during the Superbowl. Simplicity itself, just a football field decorated room with puppies playing and an insipid song repeating, "puppies… puuppies…" I thought it was very cute, and hats off to whoever came up with the idea. But after 5 minutes? Jeez, back to the game.

That’s kind of my attitude toward the kittens. When I show them – another challenge, escorting three adults in and preventing five tiny beasts from exiting the same door – I have a few stock phrases to repeat, that they’re little and cute, will need extra care the first few months, and so on. But it’s hard to say a whole lot more about any individual kitten.

I don’t particularly like being around babies either, for the same reason. (Sorry. Maybe I’m a Cylon. Don’t tell the BF’s family.) But I prefer children once they can talk and use their imaginations and don’t need diapers. And cats once they have established their own unique personalities

All that said, however – Jackson? He’s awfully sweet.

KITTENS! http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/index.shtml

Will U B My Fwiend? - Chanel

Yeah, happy summer. I head into the scorching oven we call the Mission, feeling overdressed just because I'm wearing shoes, and wonder how the rest of the country puts up with this for weeks at a time. Everyone I pass is holding an iced coffee drink or colorful smoothie of some sort. Usually I'm disdainful of these sugar laden child drink snacks for adults, but today they look tempting.

But I can cool off at Maddie's. There's a fair amount of activity there – ominous pounding from the medical facility being constructed, boxes being dragged and loud laughter from a big downstairs room being set up for some sort of dog award ceremony.

Not many cat shoppers though. And that's ok with the nervous types, the majority of our cats, if trying for the more outgoing kitties. Little Hillary is one of the latter. Frisky, hyper, dancing around rubbing, meowing, purring, batting at things… and she's young and pretty to boot, a thin tabby and white mix. She'll get adopted fast.

She's in one of the condos with a TV, presumably to help keep her outgoing nature occupied. Only instead of the usual bird video, they've got it tuned to PBS – and there's Barney. I've not seen the Barney show before, though I'm familiar with the concept and there's no mistaking this large purple dinosaur. Also, the volume is off and closed captioning is on, so I'm treated to song lyrics scrolling across the screen along with the vivid colors, frequent camera jumps and rollicking dancing.

Let's just say I'm glad this wasn't available for viewing in my, er,partying days. OMG – in just ten minutes they cover a visit to the doctor (your friend), grandparents (who love you because that's what they do), and the playground (where you must share with your friends because you love them). Then with a trippy fluttering away of gigantic pink hearts, the full cast sings and dances about friendship.

Whoa. No wonder so many young people have a gnat-sized attention span and crave constant reassurance. Hey, who am I to judge; my favorite pre-school show was Batman (bam! pow! kicking evil's butt in the pursuit of righteousness!) followed by the original Star Trek, and look where that's gotten baby boomers.

Ok, I really need to go to a different condo. On to hallway 2, where I visit Coco and Chanel. (Don't look at me, I'm a Volunteer, not name developer.) Talk about best friends forever. These two are so sweetly bonded they make Barney's pals look like casual bar buddies. Coco is the outgoing one, an attention seeking missile of a calico, cute and clumsy by turn. Chanel is the quiet beauty, a smaller torbi. She's sweet and likes attention too, but I worry that she's so retiring, spending most of her time in the same half hidden spot.

They have each other, and that's a big plus. But they really need some dedicated human friends too.